


Exposure Therapy

by StumbleineSuperqueen



Series: Therapy Sex (Not Sex Therapy) [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, Blowjobs, Knifeplay, M/M, Rough Sex, Trauma, extremely "unorthodox" therapy, hannibal gets bored sometimes or maybe all the time, it's everywhere help, so much blood, will graham precious trauma baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:32:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7711627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StumbleineSuperqueen/pseuds/StumbleineSuperqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't get the kit yet," Will said softly, and brought a hand to Hannibal's face to run his thumb lightly over his lips. He pressed it gently into Hannibal's mouth and Hannibal closed his eyes, tasting Will's blood there, savoring it. "Let it bleed."</p><p>TW: rough sex, knifeplay, bloodplay, dom/sub (sort of), consensual non-consent (sort of), trauma, sexual humiliation</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exposure Therapy

After dinner they usually sat together on the little back porch, watching the ocean in silence or drinking or reading or talking, figuring things out together. It was beautiful where they were. Will had thought that they'd be too restless in the quiet and calm of this remote place after the tumult of their first few years, when their lives began to converge. When he thought back, he found that he could rarely pick out specific events anymore from that time. His brain had distilled them down into feelings and images: paranoia, fire beneath his skin, isolation, never feeling like he saw the whole picture, always seeing things he didn't want to see, an endless procession of hospitals, prisons, and morgues...some cathedrals. He had no memories at all of most events—he knew what had occurred, but the footage was missing.

Hannibal said it was a symptom of severe trauma. But Will was not interested in channeling the memories of a dead man, so it was just fine by him. What he wanted to do was just what he was doing at the moment, and he wanted to do it every night for the rest of his life: lying on the Oriental rug on the hardwood floor of their living room, he with an Old Fashioned and Hannibal with a glass of wine, poking at the fireplace, doing nothing in particular until suddenly they were kissing slowly and passionately, popping buttons and pulling zippers, and then they were fucking, and everything was right in Will's world. He frequently forgot that Hannibal required a little more novelty in his.

Will recalled that important fact as he was startled out of his blissful reverie by the all-too-familiar burn of cold steel against his throat. He choked, and his eyes flew open to see Hannibal hovering above him, disheveled and sheened with sweat, his face wearing the look that scared Will a little even now—the one subtly different enough from his usual neutral expression to put Will immediately on guard.

Will stared at him. He swallowed, and felt the object at his throat bounce against his Adam's apple.

"Are you frightened, Will?" Hannibal asked softly. He continued to grind his cock into Will in that way that left him breathless.

"What—"

Without stopping, Hannibal freed an arm to lift the knife into the firelight. It was one of Will's hunting knives—cruelly serrated, sharp as a new razor—meant for ripping open the bellies of deer or tearing hide away from flesh. Will's blood ran cold. Hannibal rolled his weight back to the left and nestled the knife in diagonally across Will's windpipe.

"Hannibal, what are you..." Will swallowed again. He tried to decide what he should be doing about this, but the equally intense yet opposing sensations of the serrations sinking into his skin and Hannibal's cock sinking into his ass were arresting his capacity for rational thought. As if that were not enough, Hannibal reached between them to slide a hand around Will's erection.

"I am curious, Will," Hannibal murmured; lazily he began to work Will's cock in time with his thrusts. "For so long you fantasized about my death...your interior life must have become saturated with bloodlust, dreams about the intoxicating power of taking a life. Violence has leeched into your blood, flowing through the vessels that water your brain..."

"...and this." He squeezed Will's cock tightly enough to make him gasp.

"Just as violence and power are inextricably coupled, so too are power and sex...and at this moment, I imagine you must be feeling entirely powerless."

"Once again I find myself at your mercy, Doctor." Will managed a tiny crooked smile, but under the circumstances this did not sound like the wisecrack it was intended to be. Something changed almost imperceptibly behind Hannibal's eyes and he bore down on the knife. Will hissed; he felt drops of blood rolling down his neck to the carpet.

"You do."

Despite his very justified unease, Will still moaned when Hannibal returned his attention to fucking him deeper and harder. Although completely inexperienced before Hannibal, it had not taken him long to learn to love penetration. It just felt _natural_ , somehow, to give over control of his body to this deadly, endlessly fascinating man he had sacrificed so much for...to feel overpowered by him, vulnerable, something to be fucked. To be used. Even by force...even like this.

And Will...liked this. Admitting, if only to himself, that he was getting off on being fucked with a knife to his jugular filled him with humiliation. But the not-insignificant possibility that Hannibal would murder him at any moment was undeniably...stimulating. From the very beginning their relationship had been soaked in gore; violence had always bound them together, brought them closer...why should that change now that they were free?

And Hannibal had spoken the truth. The pain, the risk, the hot coppery scent of blood _were_ transporting him to that primal, exhilarating psychological zone of fight-or-flight. The one he occasionally missed from that past life, just a little bit. As he writhed and panted under Hannibal's twin assaults, Will's agony threw everything into sharp relief: the wet heat of his blood and sweat, the cold metal of the knife, every delicious movement of Hannibal inside him...

 _"Please,"_ Will sighed, the pressure in his hips already approaching unsustainable levels, _"please,_ fuck me, Hannibal...I need it, I can't hold on..."

"You can," said Hannibal gravely, "and you will, until I am through with you, or I promise...I will kill you."

A glorious shiver ran down Will's spine that threatened to end his life then and there.

Never before had he been so deeply disgusted with himself...and so hard. A distant part of him prayed Hannibal would remain the master of his carnivorous nature...that he would not open Will's carotids in a moment of passion...would not decide killing Will would be more erotic than making him cum. He could never, ever forget that fundamentally, Hannibal was a predator.

 _But if Hannibal wills it,_ Will thought hazily, _I am powerless to stop him._ A sick, shameful pleasure pulsed through him. He was totally at Hannibal's mercy. _He can take my body, or my life, if he so desires...he can make himself my God, like he so loves to do..._

Waves of aching tension washed over him, making his breathing shallow and quick and mixing so perfectly with the dizziness of blood loss. Will bit his lip, straining desperately to pull away from the brink, not at all sure Hannibal would go back on his word if he went over. Hannibal nuzzled along his jawline, Will's blood smearing across his mouth in the process, and breathed him in. He licked the red from his lips.

"Your scent right now...is exquisite." He sounded intoxicated—drinking and fucking thickened his accent, and sometimes Will caught him slipping into what he supposed must be Lithuanian when he was far enough gone. He was very far gone now. "Arousal, fear, adrenaline, blood..." He paused, luxuriating. "Shame."

Will's face was hot with it. His body was rapidly pushing him past the point of playing coy. His voice broke as he choked out, "Please, Hannibal... _hurt me_ , I want you to use me, _please_ —"

Hannibal exhaled sharply. On his next downstroke, he slammed into Will's ass so hard Will winced, then nearly screamed as the impact raked the knife over his ravaged throat. Hannibal drew back his full length and pounded his cock into Will again, and again. It became savage and ferocious and nearly torture, and it took Will's breath away. Even in his anguish, or because of it, Will struggled not to cum all over Hannibal's stomach.

"Hannibal, please—I can't—I'm—oh, Jesus _Christ_ ," Will groaned, in equal parts ecstasy and frustration.

Mercifully just then Hannibal shuddered against him and rasped, _"Will."_ The knife clattered away across the floor as he seized Will by the hipbones with both hands for his climatic thrusts. With an acute vicarious thrill, and not a small amount of relief, Will felt Hannibal fill him.

After a moment of sitting entwined with their backs against the couch, with only their labored breathing to break the silence, Will raised a cautious hand to his neck. He could barely stand to touch it but, although the wounds were still bleeding freely, they were not life-threateningly deep. Hannibal moved his hand away to examine for himself, ever the doctor. Will saw him glance at the lazy trails of blood still wending their way down his torso.

"Don't get the kit yet," Will said softly, and brought a hand to Hannibal's face to run his thumb lightly over his lips. He pressed it gently into Hannibal's mouth and Hannibal closed his eyes, tasting Will's blood there, savoring it. "Let it bleed."

They kissed. This couldn't end now—Will was wound too tightly still, his desire for release unbearable. Will took Hannibal's hand. He grit his teeth and pressed the palm against his throat, until blood seeped between their fingers and ran down Hannibal's arm. Without breaking Hannibal's gaze, Will guided his dripping hand to his lap and wrapped Hannibal's fingers around his cock. Hannibal's eyes darkened. He tightened his fist, slick with Will's blood, and began jerking him off.

"Mm…" Will pulled Hannibal's mouth to his, running his tongue along Hannibal's pointed teeth, sucking the blood from his bottom lip. Hannibal could not seem to catch his breath; Will rarely saw him so obviously worked up. In truth Will was almost afraid to awaken this particular hunger in Hannibal—for a fleeting moment he allowed himself to acknowledge what might have happened earlier if he had come—but he was desperate. It was a need that he do this, not a want anymore.

Will drew back just a fraction of an inch and hesitated. "I want you to suck it off me," he whispered.

Hannibal closed his eyes and groaned. They kissed twice more, frantic, and then Will leaned back against the couch. He let his held breath out slowly as he felt the heat of Hannibal's mouth enclose the head of his cock. By turns Hannibal took him in, slid his tongue along the shaft, turned to suck along its length. Very soon his serene face was a bloody mess. Will could barely form thoughts. He could only stare.

His neck throbbed excruciatingly and he was beginning to feel somewhat lightheaded, but he'd be damned if he stopped Hannibal now, now that he was taking Will's cock deeper and deeper, until Will felt his lips touch the base and his throat tight around the head. Will whimpered. Pleasure teased him like a tide, receding briefly only to roll back over him stronger than before. Silently Will begged any higher powers listening in on his thoughts to let him cum before he passed out from blood loss and overstimulation.

 _"Hannibal..._ Hannibal, oh..." Will's back arched of its own accord: taking his body's cue, Will began to rock his hips upwards, cautiously until he was sure Hannibal could oblige him, then a little faster, until he was fucking Hannibal's throat. For a few beautiful seconds Will's whole body ached. Then all at once his long-delayed orgasm broke over him and he cried out wordlessly, head thrown back to the cushions, hips straining forward.

Hannibal swallowed and withdrew with a self-satisfied smirk. He settled in next to Will and stroked the sweat-soaked curls back from his forehead.

"You gorgeous thing," Hannibal murmured, pressing his face to Will's cheek.

Without raising his head Will whispered hoarsely, "Now you can get the med kit."

While Hannibal was gone, Will's heartbeat gradually returned to its normal pace and he began to feel like he might someday be able to support his own weight again. Footsteps approached, and momentarily Hannibal was daubing at his mangled neck with a wet cloth, pausing occasionally to dip into a bowl of warm water and wring it out. He still had the hands of a surgeon, steady and controlled, and while the sting was unavoidable, Hannibal never put a fraction more pressure or friction on the wounds than was necessary. _He can be unbelievably gentle when he wants to be,_ Will thought. It made him feel loved.

"I'm afraid you'll have gather your strength and sit up for this, Will," Hannibal said, setting the washcloth aside and unwinding a length of gauze. Will did as he was told, and Hannibal began wrapping his throat with the bandage.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asked conversationally, keeping his eyes on his work.

"I did." Will paused. "Does that surprise you?"

"Not a bit." Carefully Hannibal snipped the gauze and fastened the end in place with metal clips. "I thought you might find it helpful."

Will snorted. Hannibal raised his gaze to Will's with a small disapproving frown.

"I'm sorry," Will said, feeling vaguely guilty. "Why?"

"Because your nightmares have come back. You cry all night. You gasp for air like a man drowning. You drench the sheets with sweat. Then in the morning you tell me you slept well." Hannibal replaced his supplies in his tasteful little black leather doctor's bag, then produced from somewhere a fresh Old Fashioned which he handed to Will. Will smiled.

"We have given too much and come too far in this together to be strangers, Will." Hannibal located his previously abandoned wine glass and swirled the remainder absently for a moment, then took a sip. "I cannot share a bed with a man who sneaks out to visit old demons each night. You must allow me to help you."

He stole a small sideways glance at Will, who correctly interpreted its meaning as  _or else_. "My hope was that tonight might bring some of your midnight demons home into your waking mind, if you truly do not recall your bad dreams."

"I remember some," Will admitted, wondering how many times he would forget that hiding things from Hannibal Lecter was a fool's errand.

"And the intrusive thoughts, the flashbacks? Your psychotic symptoms?"

Will made a face at his Old Fashioned. They drank together in silence for a bit. Hannibal finished his glass and stood up, walking through the kitchen out onto the porch off the back of the house. At some point he had put on loose pajamas; Will realized he was still naked except for the bandage and the drying blood spattered over every inch of his body. He followed Hannibal outside anyway. There was no one to see but the other part of himself.

He had barely set foot on the porch when something out across the water arrested his vision. Breeching smoothly out of the black water like the fin of a shark was a huge black set of antlers. They traveled along for a few hundred yards as if an enormous animal, large enough to walk along the seabed, held them aloft, then uneventfully sank back beneath the waves over the span of another hundred yards or so. After they disappeared, the moon continued to shine down on the waves as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Will realized he'd been standing with one foot in and one out, staring incredulously at the empty ocean, for several minutes. From the shadows to the right of the door, Hannibal caught his eye from where he sat on the cheap plastic deck furniture. It had come with the house, and Hannibal loathed it.

"Do you sometimes find yourself still seeing things that aren't there, Will?" His tone was not unkind. Will sat down next to him on the flimsy rocking loveseat, buried his face in Hannibal's bare shoulder and started to cry. Hannibal held him.

**Author's Note:**

> This one fought me a lot; I made an effort to keep this relatively (?) light in the context of its content and I think I succeeded. As an autistic person with a trauma history and high empathy, I feel obligated to acknowledge those aspects of Will's character and try to depict him realistically as a mentally ill traumatized person with psychosis and dissociation. THIS IS A DELICATE BOY OKAY. THIS IS MY DISSOCIATIVE BABY BOY.
> 
> That said: Please, for the love of God, do NOT look at this as an endorsement of dealing with trauma through sexual re-traumatization. In real life this is not at all healthy or okay (hopefully I don't need to say that but you never know). If you come away from this show with the idea that anything Hannibal does is within a billion miles of real therapy, I'm not sure what to tell you, and the same applies here.
> 
> Right now I consider this a one-shot but it hews pretty close to a lot of themes in the longer multi-chapter piece I'm working on (which I mentioned in my last author's note but clearly have not finished because I was doing THIS) so maybe it will tie in there somewhere eventually. I'll keep you posted.
> 
> PLEASE COMMENT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS!!! Comments literally make my whole day. Tumblr: stumbleine-superqueen.tumblr.com


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